Sixty-three! Can you believe my mother, is sixty-three? Every day I stare in the bathroom mirror hoping I have inherited her preternatural youthful looks.
This photograph was taken in the West Village after her epic blow dry at Dlala a few weeks ago.(Some of you asked for photographic evidence.) I am coveting her Oliver Peoples Vanadis. (she also has immaculate taste) I've lost mine yet again. It's bizarre - I have a lot of sunglasses, yet the only ones I ever lose are my Vanadis. And that's it now: after three pairs I cannot justify replacing them again.